


It's Quiet Uptown, Pa

by JustARandomIdiot



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: F/M, also the hamliza is gradual, because i loved it so much when i wrote this, ghost!philip, it's quiet uptown, this is based off of the animatic by galactibun/scribs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustARandomIdiot/pseuds/JustARandomIdiot
Summary: Philip's restless soul still lingers on Earth, unable to pass on, unless his parents can make up. Inspired by galactibun's animatic. Originally posted on my fanfiction.net account.





	It's Quiet Uptown, Pa

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in February, and this was originally posted on my fanfiction.net account, Randomness Girl (terrible name, I know). This was written around the time Scribs had their other channel, galactibun, and their animatic, which inspired this, was also there.

"Un, deaux, tre..." he weakly muttered, struggling to finish the line. Unfortunately, he lost all feeling in his body. Unable to do anything, he went limp and unmoving.

 

"...sept, huit, neuf," his mother finished, waiting for his reply. He tried to repeat after her.

 

_Sept, huit, neuf._

 

But she heard nothing.

 

"Sept, huit, neuf..." she tried again.

 

So did he.

 

_Sept, huit, neuf._

 

"Sept, huit..."

 

_Neuf! Sept, huit, neuf!_

 

His mother let out the ugliest sob as she held his body close to her, his father behind her, weeping. He tried desperately to hold her, to touch her, to do something.

 

_Ma, I'm right here!_

 

But she continued to sob, unaware of her son right there.

 

_Ma, why are you crying? I'm here..._

 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Only, he couldn't feel it, and his hand went right through. That's when realized he couldn't feel anything.

 

_Pa?_

 

He turned to his father, wanting to cry. He was right there, but his family couldn't see him.

 

_Pa, I'm sorry..._

 

He stood up and walked over to him, placing his hand on his, best that he could. He never realized how much he would miss holding that hand. He looked back at his mother, who continued to sob over his body.

 

_This is all my fault..._

 

* * *

 

_There are moments that the words don't reach,_

_There is suffering too terrible to name._

_You hold your child as tight as you can_

_And push away the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

Home wasn't the same. Well, since his father had published that pamphlet, it never was the same. Pa wasn't allowed to sleep with Ma, and she did her best to keep the children away from him as well.

 

But this time, it was even worse.

 

His younger brothers and sisters didn't handle his death well. Poor Angie, she wasn't herself anymore. It seemed like something in her brain had snapped when she learned he died. His attempts to comfort her were all in vain, however, and though she didn't die, he still lost her.

 

His mom and dad? More reclusive than ever. They had almost completely stopped talking, something he never thought would happen.

 

His mom would stare for hours at the piano, forgetting to eat and sleep sometimes. He'd watch as she'd softly caress the black and white ivory keys, but never played them. Tears would always drop onto her arms as she would attempt to suppress them.

 

His dad locked him self in his office, writing endlessly. He neglected his health, whether on purpose or on accident, Philip didn't know. He stared at the mountains of paperwork produced within a span of a few hours; he never saw his father work this much or this hard before. There would be times he'd even pass out on his desk.

 

Every time, Philip tried to find ways to reach out to them, comfort them, let them know he was right there. However, it always remained the same since he died: they never noticed.

 

* * *

 

_The moments when you're in so deep,_

_It feels easier to just swim down._

_The Hamiltons move uptown_

_And learn to live with the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

When they had decided to move to a different part of the city, Philip followed. What was the point of staying behind? Besides, he couldn't just leave his family, he loved them too much to part from them.

 

Part from them.

 

Was that why he was still there? His love for his family?

 

Why he still lingered on Earth nagged at him. His mother had him growing up, learning the Bible. Though his father wasn't as religious, he supported his mother teaching this. Both believed in a heaven that one's soul would go to after death. If this heaven existed, then why wasn't he there? Had he done something wrong?

 

* * *

 

_"I spend hours in the garden._

_I walk alone to the store._

_And it's quiet uptown._

_I never liked the quiet before."_

 

* * *

 

Philip trailed behind his father, who slowly sauntered the side of the street. The serenity of the evening, the silence of the city at night, who knew he would ever like it? He was always a busy man, one who never bothered to slow down for anything.

 

Until now.

 

Hands behind his back, he continued, looking up at the crescent moon. Philip looked up as well, admiring the beauty of the night sky. He turned to his father, who gave a small, sad smile as he looked to the moon. "It's quiet uptown," he whispered, before continuing to move forward.

 

_I like it uptown, Pa._

 

Speaking was useless, but it didn't stop him from trying.

 

He continued to walk alongside his father, whose head was now hanging low.

 

_I'm sorry, Pa..._

 

* * *

 

_"I take the children to church on Sunday,_

_The sign of the cross at the door._

_And I pray._

_That never used to happen before."_

 

* * *

 

Philip sat next to one his brothers at the end of the pew. It felt quite strange, actually attending the services at church as a family. Before he had died, his father wasn't one to attend regularly, maybe for a special occasion like Christmas or so, but besides that, he basically never came.

 

But now, everything was different.

 

One would think their family going together would be sweet, maybe even filled with love. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Though his parents sat next to one another at the other end, whenever he looked towards them, his mother had an air of hostility around her. His father would stare at her glumly as she continued to look straight ahead, not giving him a second thought.

 

It saddened him that she still hadn't forgiven him. And coincidentally, that just happened to be the sermon for that day: God's forgiveness. The pastor spoke of how everyone is a sinner and that everyone deserves to go to hell, but because of God's grace, people are given the chance to go to heaven instead. He also spoke of how since God has forgiven people of their wrongs, people should forgive other people as well.

 

Philip glanced at his parents again, wondering if they were listening to the sermon. He wanted to see his mother forgive his father. It upset him that his death had torn them more apart than before.

 

At the end of the service, his mother stood up and ushered the kids away. Philip sighed as they walked through him. He stood up as well, until he noticed his father had remained seated. He watched the rest of his family step out of the church, then looked back at his father. He stepped closer.

 

_Pa?_

 

His hands were clasped, his elbows propped up on the pew in front of him. His long hair fell in front of his face, covering almost everything but his eyes, those dull eyes filled with grief. Philip missed the life that once filled those brown eyes.

 

He sat down next to him, noticing his mouth moving, as if speaking, but nothing came out. Tears streamed down his cheeks each time he blinked. His eyes were focused straight ahead, right at the cross that symbolized the death of Jesus.

 

Was he praying?

 

Philip couldn't name a moment in his life where he saw his father pray. He'd seen his mother pray, she had encouraged him to do so, especially every night, yet his father never did. At least, until now.

 

He tried to wrap an arm around his back, holding it in place so that it wouldn't phase through him. He leaned a bit closer, trying to lay his head on his shoulder.

 

"Please," he heard his father just barely whisper, "take good care of him up there..."

 

_Pa, I'm right here..._

 

Listening to his father pour out his heart, he couldn't help but silently wonder if burning in the fiery pits of hell was better than staying on Earth, watching his parents suffer.

 

* * *

 

_If you see him in the streets_

_Walking by himself, talking to himself,_

_Have pity_

_"Philip, you would like it uptown,_

_It's quiet uptown."_

_He is working through the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

_It's peaceful here..._

 

His father had taken up a new hobby: nightly strolls through the city. Philip would join him each night, walking side by side, taking in the scenery. His father would mutter phrases to himself, as if still speaking to his son, not knowing that he was still there, listening to every word.

 

This was the only time of the day he would actually take a break and slow down. It seemed to do good, at least; he was beginning to heal. The quiet was relaxing, and taking it slow gave him time to think.

 

* * *

 

_His hair has gone gray,_

_He passes everyday,_

_They say he walks the length of the city._

_"You knock me out, I fall apart."_

_Can you imagine?_

 

* * *

 

He watched his mother sleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She would cry herself to sleep each night, letting free some of the bottled emotions she held back. His father always went to bed late, and she seemed to use this, as she never showed any emotion towards him.

 

_I hope you can forgive him, Ma, he's hurting a lot as well..._

 

He was told countless times that misery enjoyed company, and it was always best to tell others when something upsets you. Why wasn't his mother practicing what she preached?

 

He walked out the bedroom and into his father's office, where he sat at his desk, reading something. Bags hung under his eyes, and he looked exhausted, like he was overworking himself again.

 

Philip walked up to his desk.

 

_Pa, get some sleep, it's very late._

 

As usual, he didn't hear him. The man sighed and closed his eyes, a tear crawling slowly down his cheek. Philip walked around the desk, trying to catch a glimpse of what his father was reading. His eyes widened as he read it.

 

_"My name is Philip._

_I am a poet._

_I wrote this poem just to show it._

_And I just turned nine!_

_You can write rhymes but..."_

 

The rest of it was filled with random smudges, probably from his father's crying, but he could still recite that poem word for word.

 

He was surprised that it was still there; he was sure that he had thrown it away, though maybe his mother had saved it all these years. If she did, it was amazing it came with them to the new home.

 

Philip closed his eyes and sighed, a new poem formulating in his mind:

 

_My name is Philip._

_I am a martyr._

_I died to defend my father's honor._

_And I must confess,_

_I wish my ma would show my father some forgiveness._

 

* * *

 

_"Look at where we are._

_Look at where we started._

_I know I don't deserve you, Eliza,_

_But here me out, that would be enough."_

 

* * *

 

His father had his hand on the doorhandle, about to take his stroll. Philip, who was sitting next to his mother, stood up, ready to go out with him. He had the door wide open, then turned his head to his wife. "Eliza, would you like to come with me?"

 

Philip glanced at her. She held a steady gaze at her husband, no emotion in her face. He looked back at his father, who had a look that begged her to say yes.

 

_Come on, Ma, go with him._

 

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and pushed forward a bit, as if to coax her, though his hand went right through. His spirits deflated a bit, until she stood up and walked towards the door, where her husband waited.

 

She had agreed to go out on a walk with him. It filled Philip with a bit of hope, anticipating when she would say that she forgives him, that things can go back to the way they were, and they can move on together.

 

But she never said a word to him.

 

In fact, during the walk, she kept her distance, ignoring his attempts to reach out to her.

 

* * *

 

_"If I could spare his life,_

_If I could trade his life for mine,_

_He'd be standing here right now,_

_And you would smile,_

_And that would be enough."_

 

* * *

 

The next night, his father didn't ask her to tag along, yet she came with him anyway. She still stayed away from him, but she appeared to stand a bit closer than before.

 

Or maybe that was just wistful thinking on Philip's part.

 

But still, she chose to walk again that night.

 

_Glad you're joining us again._

 

His father decided to try and take advantage of this, attempting to speak with her. "It's really nice uptown," he spoke, a somber smile on his face. His dull eyes met hers for a moment, before she turned away.

 

He looked down at the ground, tears sparkling at his eyes, but he continued to smile. "He would've liked it, don't you think?"

 

She stopped in her tracks.

 

* * *

 

_"I don't pretend to know_

_The challenges we're facing._

_I know there's no replacing what we've lost,_

_And you need time."_

 

* * *

 

Philip did his best to hold her as she began to shake. Her messy hair fell in front of her face as she held herself in her arms.

 

_It's okay, Ma, I'm here..._

 

His father turned around, wet eyes wide with worry. He reached out to comfort her, but she pulled away.

 

* * *

 

_"But I'm not afraid._

_I know who I married._

_Just let me stay here by your side,_

_That would be enough."_

 

* * *

 

He lowered his hand and nodded glumly. She didn't want his comfort.

 

He slowly moved forward as she began to rush past him. For a split second, Philip thought he saw tears at her eyes. She continued on, not stopping until they made it back to their house.

 

* * *

 

_If you see him in the street,_

_Walking by her side,_

_Talking by her side, have pity._

_"Eliza, do you like it uptown?_

_It's quiet uptown."_

_He is trying to do the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

The next night, she still came, but this time, she walked alongside him. Well, she stood a few feet away from him, but Philip considered it an improvement from the previous nights. He quietly walked between the two, silently praying they would make up soon.

 

It was very quiet as they strolled through the streets of the town. His father didn't try to get his mother to open up; at least, not yet.

 

* * *

 

_See them walking in the park,_

_Long after dark,_

_Taking in the sights of the city._

_"Look around, look around, Eliza."_

_They are trying to do the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

Without saying a word, he made a turn towards the park. Philip followed, confused.

 

_Pa, where are you going? We never went this way before._

 

Of course, his father didn't answer, unable to hear his son. Philip followed after him, and so did his mother. Philip looked around him, staying just behind the two, the dark trees towering over him, the colorful flowers in the green grass brightly lit by the street lamps, and the hidden crickets chirping.

 

He took a deep breath and sighed. The park was beautiful.

 

He turned to his mother, who hid her face in her hair as she hung her head.

 

_Isn't it beautiful, Ma?_

 

She stopped in the middle of the path, keeping as still as possible.

 

* * *

 

_There are moments that the words don't reach._

_There's a grace too powerful to name._

_We push away what we can never understand._

_We push away the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

_Are you okay?_

 

"Eliza?" Philip looked back to his father, standing next to her. She remained silent and unmoving, turning her head away.

 

"Betsey," he called her again, a name Philip had not heard since the publishing of that pamphlet. She still didn't respond. "...I'm sorry, for everything." He turned away as well, letting the tears fall.

 

"It's my fault we lost him; I told him not to shoot. Hell, it's my fault he challenged Eacker to a duel."

 

_Pa..._

 

"It's my fault that I published that pamphlet, it's my fault for seeing Maria, and it's my fault for not coming with you upstate when I should've." He sighed. "I... I'm not asking for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve to be forgiven. I'm asking... just to be with you, to comfort you, because... I miss him, too. He was our son..."

 

She pursed her lips and blinked back her tears. He hung his head, sadly accepting that she couldn't forgive him.

 

_Ma, please, he's really sorry..._

 

He did his best to hug her arm. He closed his eyes, unable to contain his tears. He felt them crawl down his freckled cheeks as he let out a soft sob.

 

_Please... For me, just this once..._

 

* * *

 

_They are standing in the garden,_

_Alexander by Eliza's side._

_She takes his hand._

_"It's quiet uptown."_

 

* * *

 

Philip opened his eyes, gasping. Was he imagining things? He looked over his mother's shoulders, tears still falling from his eyes.

 

Her fingers were entwined with his father's.

 

"Alexander..." she choked out, her voice cracking.

 

He looked at her in disbelief, a small smile beginning to form. "Eliza..."

 

* * *

 

_Forgiveness._

_Can you imagine?_

_Forgiveness._

_Can you imagine?_

 

* * *

 

Without warning, she threw her arms around him, sobbing as she let out all the emotions she hid from him. He patted her back and caressed her hair gently. "Shh..." he whispered softly, closing his eyes again.

 

"I-I'm so sorry, Alexander..." she hiccuped in between sobs. "I-I was foolish, and selfish, a-and..." She held him tighter, her lips quivering. "What would Philip say?" she let out quietly.

 

_I'm glad you forgave him._

 

"It's okay, Eliza," he assured her, "you have nothing to be sorry for."

 

Continuing to sob, she whispered, "I knew you were suffering, yet I did nothing because I wanted you to. After how I treated you, how can you stand to be with me?"

 

He gave a small chuckle. "I deserved it, anyway. I was the fool." He planted a kiss on her cheek and brushed her hair out of her face. "You know? You're still just as beautiful as the day when I first laid my eyes on you."

 

She huffed with a little grin on her face, looking away. "Alexander," she told him, her tone slightly scolding, "stop joking; I'm a mess." Which was true: her hair stood up everywhere and stuck to her wet cheeks. Her brown eyes were very red and puffy, and ever since Philip died, she hadn't bothered to really take good care of herself.

 

"Mess or not, you're still my beautiful Betsey."

 

Philip watched contentedly as he picked her up and twirled her, the couple giggling happily as if they were young again. He put her down as they stopped right in front of their son and locked lips for the first time in years.

 

With a satisfied sigh, Philip closed his eyes, smiling at the scene in front of him. His parents had finally made up. His soul could finally be at rest. Opening his eyes, he felt himself fading away.

 

_See you on the other side, Ma and Pa._

 

* * *

 

_If you see him in the streets,_

_Walking by her side,_

_Talking by her side, have pity._

_They are going through the unimaginable._

 

* * *

 

**THE END**


End file.
